by K T Bowes
Chapter 26
Hana left home earlier and braved the bus service from Flagstaff to work. The Orbiter to Maui Street heaved with students from different schools and workers from the outer suburbs, mixing and mingling in a haze of muffled iPod music. Other commuters stood in the aisles, but a Year 13 from school recognised Hana and offered his seat. “Thanks, love. That’s kind of you.” She sank onto the tatty bench, avoiding a large rip in the seat material. Her high heels proved ineffective against the slippery, metallic bus floor and she experienced a wave of relief at not having to jerk and sway in the aisle with the other bodies.
The elderly gentleman next to the window leaned against her every time the bus took a corner, his breath smelling of tobacco and old cheese. After the eighth time, Hana gave an ill-tempered sigh and the Year 13 smirked. When the bus stopped outside school, Hana emerged coughing from the haze of boy sweat and veiled cigarette smoke. “I can’t do that every day,” she grumbled to herself.
Walking past the chapel car park, Hana spotted Logan’s truck. She winced, assuming he’d arrived early and slowed her walk, wondering how to spend the rest of her life avoiding him. Noticing a mist covering the lower halves of the window and the wheel still broaching the white line, she realised it hadn’t moved since the day before. She sighed with irritation and picked up speed.
Pete’s empty desk greeted her as she banged through the door and Hana gritted her teeth. He’d made an awkward problem into a catastrophe, ensuring she looked like the bad guy. Logan lent her his truck and she left it overnight in a theft-prone part of town in revenge. She shook her fist at Pete’s dandruff-covered chair and imagined the pleasure of throttling him. “Wearing gloves!” she added, wrinkling her nose. She pushed her handbag into her drawer and sank onto her chair, pressing a hand over her already thudding head. If Logan’s anger intimidated her yesterday, today’s would send her into orbit.
“Only he didn’t intimidate me,” she sighed. Closing her eyes, she remembered his flashing grey irises and the strong cut of his jaw. Everything about him exuded power and authority, his mana, life essence pouring off him in intoxicating waves. It excited and invigorated her but she wanted him on her side, not in the opposite camp. She knew they were doomed, yet her lips and cheeks remembered his kisses and her treacherous heart sent darts of desire to her gut.
Hana clumped around the office putting away stray brochures and paperwork. She fired up her computer and checked the bulletin for the day’s events. Anka always did them early, giving a run sheet for the day. Another set of initials appeared in the footer, compounding Hana’s misery. She printed a copy and hunted down a drawing pin to clip it to the common room notice board. One particular item caught her eye and she peered at it. ‘New Zealand Police are visiting the common room today at 12.45, lunchtime. Students interested in a police career should attend. All year groups welcome.’
“No, they’re not!” Hana logged onto her own calendar as dread mounted. The police visit showed up on the screen for the following week, alongside other items which were colour coded. She pulled up the bulletin and groaned. External courses for that day were also listed. Chaos threatened. Hana readied herself for the fireworks when Sheila returned from the imminent staff briefing.
Right on cue, Sheila stamped into the office. “What’s the matter with this place?” she yelled. “The police visit is next week! Now Watson’s whining at me.” She performed an entertaining but not very accurate impression of Donald Watson grumbling, the voice a few octaves too high and squeaky, “I’ve already got the common room booked for a meeting then and I can’t change it blah blah blah.”
“It’s a mistake,” Hana reassured her. “The new typist has pulled up the wrong week in the calendar is all. Why don’t I email all tutor staff and stop them reading out any notices relating to us?” She considered the blanket email which would arrive in Logan’s inbox and shivered.
“They don’t read bloody emails!” Sheila huffed. She repeated the process Hana had already gone through, checking and rechecking. She ground her teeth as valuable time trickled through their fingers. “Fine, email them then!” Sheila snapped and Hana sighed. She opened her mouth to speak and the bell rang for the start of tutor group.
With a wail, Sheila exited the office, flying down the corridor to impart the message to twelve individual classes with a personal appearance. Hana shook her head and dashed off the email, leaving Logan out of the list.
Peter North slouched through the door, offering Hana a vent for her guilt. “Could you not do one simple task?” she growled. His eyes grew wide and round and he scratched at an itch in his right armpit. “Why didn’t you give the keys to Logan?”
North looked sheepish and dug around in his pocket, pulling out the offending keys, covered in a veil of pocket fluff. He shrugged. “I don’t like it when he’s sad. You made him sad.” Pete gave her an accusing glare and Hana took a deep breath, holding out her hand for the keys.
“I’ll give them to him myself,” she said through gritted teeth. A voice in her head reprimanded her for not doing that in the first place.
“Don’t!” Pete implored. He stepped in front of her with his arms outstretched in line with her boobs. Hana glanced at his waggling fingers in horror.
“Don’t even think about it!” she snapped, taking a step out of range.
Pete shook his head and adjusted his arms so they dropped by his sides. “No, I want you to stop. You don’t understand what he’s been through.”
“I don’t care.” Hana’s jaw hardened. “I don’t have to tell him jack! We aren’t married and he doesn’t command every thought I have. He crossed the line, Pete. Give me the keys.”
He tipped them into her hand, dropping the fluff in too. Not trusting herself to comment further, Hana snatched a poster from the shelf and set off towards the back stairs and the art rooms. She loved the sweet, elderly art teacher and his haven of pretty things. He reminded her of a friend of her father’s who brought her colourful rocks and little curios as a child. Buying time, Hana walked towards her distraction whilst wondering how to give the keys to Logan without making a fuss. She practiced sentences in her head. “It’s for the best,” she whispered under her breath on repeat, reminding herself of the clause in her contract which decreed that staff members were not permitted to date.
Halfway up the stairs, Hana stopped and peered at the poster in her hand. Donald Watson paused on his way down. “What’s the matter?”
“I think I picked up the wrong poster.” Hana attempted to peer down the shaft, seeing only dark shapes. She glanced back the way she’d come, hundreds of steps and corridors swelling into an insurmountable distance. At the end of it waited Pete, with his misguided loyalty and groping hands.
“Well, don’t waste time girl!” Donald bit. “Unravel it and take a look.” He trotted off down the stairs, his tie blown over one shoulder and matching the strands of hair dangling from his head.
The stairs seemed a foolish place to unroll a flimsy poster, especially one almost as tall as Hana. She eyed up the landing ahead of her and realised she’d be vulnerable as soon as the bell rang, a prime target for stampeding students hurrying to class. She backtracked, finding herself at the door of the stockroom on the split-level landing.
This time she knocked. Receiving no answer, Hana pressed the keypad, relaying the number she’d seen on an all staff email that morning. The code changed monthly and she smirked at 666, the number of the beast. Someone had a sense of humour in a church school. Once inside, she jiggled the internal button and hissed an expletive at the groundsman who mended nothing. Pushing an exercise book into the gap to stop the door slamming on her, she rolled the poster onto the floorboards and squatted down to look. A Māori man in a reed skirt peered up at her, brandishing a Te Rakau. The rod looked powerful in his olive fingers, able to bring creativity or inflict punishment. Tattoos covered his chin and neck denoting his genealogical whakapapa and his pink tongue flattened against his
lower lip in challenge. Hana stroked his cheek, remembering her conversation with Logan. The art teacher wouldn’t want the poster but the head of Māori language would love him, especially as he bore an uncanny likeness to a student from a couple of years ago. Hana rolled the poster into its tube shape, fighting the elastic band around its girth. The language classrooms were next door to English, so she steeled herself to hand deliver the keys on her way there.
A shadow fell across her as someone yanked the door open, making her jump. Logan Du Rose stood in the gap, biting his lower lip and battling a shroud of awkwardness. A broken ruler in one hand and a shop receipt in the other revealed his mission. After a long moment of stunned silence, Hana broke it by shifting backwards so he could pass. The air crackled between them. Logan bent and scooped up the exercise book. “You dropped this,” he said, holding it out towards her.
Hana’s eyes widened as the door eased closed behind him, relaxing as it rested against the frame with the tiniest shaft of light showing through. “Excuse me,” she said, avoiding his eyes. She moved closer, her gaze fixed on the glimmer of light from the stairwell. A twang heralded the rebellion of the elastic band and the poster began unrolling itself around her legs. Hana gathered up the edges and tried to fit the huge piece of shiny paper and herself past Logan’s imposing frame.
He reached out a muscular arm and blocked her way, “Can we talk?”
“I’ve nothing to add to your monologue yesterday, thanks.” Hana clung to the resolution which dictated she’d be better off alone. She couldn’t date a colleague and would be foolish to try.
She fixed her gaze on the arm in front of her face and contemplated shoving it away. The bright paua cufflinks sparkled against the crisp linen and other thoughts strayed into her mind. Logan withdrew his arm and a wave of disappointment crashed over Hana’s flustered confusion. The car keys chose that moment to dig into her thigh, moving in the tight pocket of her trousers as a reminder of her decision. Hana dropped her gaze and fumbled for them, losing control of the poster again. She held them out to him like an offering, exchanging them for the portion of her heart she’d foolishly already given. Long lashes swished over Logan’s cheek as he looked down at them and then back up at her.
Hana closed her eyes, willing the awful minute over. She felt a breeze and caught a hint of Logan’s aftershave; a gorgeous muskiness mingled with sweet meadows and summer. Her body reminded her how it felt on the steps of her house with his arm around her, conspiring to show her what she’d lost. What she always lost. She battled a sense of overwhelming distress and lurched for the door, dragging the poster behind her.
It ripped, tearing the fearsome Māori face from hair to neck. Rage obliterated all other emotions, carrying her through like a current of salvation and immunising her against hurt. Hana’s green eyes flashed danger and she shoved at Logan’s chest, meeting a rock hard wall of muscle. He snatched up her fist and bent her arm upwards, pressing it against the rough shelf behind. Hana dropped the poster and raised her other hand, losing that too in his firm grip. The keys dug into her palm. Logan switched so one strong hand captured both slender wrists and then he leaned down and kissed her. Hana turned her face away and he kissed her neck. “Trust me,” he whispered.
She opened her mouth to deliver a barbed reply and his lips covered hers, taking her breath away. The car keys clanged to the dusty floorboards and Hana heard them settle, the rush of her heartbeat far louder. Logan teased her lips and tongue, making her feel out of control and alive. When he sensed her relax, he released her arms to rest on his shoulders. She felt like a ball of putty as he ravished her face with warm kisses, spreading her lipstick across her cheek and his. “It’s not over,” he whispered against her lips and she groaned.
The door clicked and the room darkened. Hana panicked.
The sound of the bell for the first period sent them skittering apart, Hana putting her hand up to her mouth in horror. “We need to stop.” She sounded breathless and her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Logan snaked his hands around her waist and pulled her into him, planting a kiss on her forehead. “What if I don’t want to?” His lips were persuasive, the skin on his jaw soft from an early morning shave and his cologne intoxicating. Hana gasped as her stomach plunged downwards in a sensation of incredible longing. Logan’s lips pressed against her ear. “What if I never let you go again?” he asked in a whisper.
“Stop it,” Hana giggled, wriggling away as Logan bit her neck. “We’ll get caught.”
“Is there a light switch?” She heard his cowboy boots scuff against the floor and clatter into the keys.
“It’s here.” She felt along the shelves and touched the back of the door, fumbling her way right until she contacted the old, stubby switch. A dull light flared into existence from a single, dangling bulb near the back of the room. Corner shelves cast eerie shadows and Hana pressed herself against the solid door. It didn’t budge. “Oh, no!”
Footsteps clumped past as six hundred boys dragged reluctant bodies to class. Bags slid against the door as they jostled on the stairs and around the dog leg.
Logan strode forward and knocked, but the stampeding males drowned out his efforts. He looked at Hana and then smiled. “You’ve smudged your lipstick.” He dragged his thumb beneath her bottom lip, his grey irises disappearing behind black pupils.
Hana frowned. “No, you smudged my lipstick.” Her face curled into a sly smile. “You’re wearing it now too.”
Logan reached for her and dragged her into his body. “It tasted like berries. Does it suit me?”
A flush of embarrassment lit Hana’s cheeks in a soft pink and she shook her head. “No.” She shifted her cheek against his chest. “I’m wiping it on your shirt.”
“Don’t!” He held onto her upper arms, keeping her far enough away to stop her. “Not unless you want me fired.”
“Are you teaching next?” Realisation dawned and Hana’s eyes opened wide.
“Meant to be.” He chewed his lip. “How do we get out?”
“My phone’s on my desk,” Hana groaned. “Do you have yours?” She prodded at Logan’s trouser pocket and he wrinkled his nose.
“No. I waited all last night for you to text and then left it at home in disgust.” He reached for her again and she backed away.
“That wasn’t my fault. I don’t need to say sorry.”
“Okay, okay.” He pulled her into his chest and rubbed a hand across her tense shoulders. “Then I’m sorry, Hana. Okay? It turned into a doozy of a day and I apologise for taking it out on you.”
“Fine.” She made her reply sound grudging, loving it when Logan held her tighter. The noise outside lessened. “What do we say when someone opens the door?” She sounded fearful, biting her bottom lip with anxiety.
Logan leaned back and sighed. “Tell them we were making out.”
“No!” Hana stamped her foot. “It’s against the rules.”
“What rules?”
Hana slapped him on the arm. “The no fraternising rule. It’s in your contract.”
“Not in mine.” He rubbed sensuous circles on the back of her neck.
“It’s in everyone’s. It’s a church school and they don’t want trouble.” Hana sighed. “I don’t want trouble.”
Logan gave a low snort and found the soft skin in the small of her back. “Then you should run now.” His fingers felt warm and gentle and persuasive. “It’s not in my contract.”
Hana put her hands against his chest in a stop sign. “It’s definitely in mine.” Her voice dripped regret. “I thought you knew. We can’t do this. It’s stupid to start.”
Logan snagged her again, hauling her into him. “We are doing this, Hana. We did start and it’s non-negotiable. I’m not stopping and they can’t enforce it.”
Hana sighed and ran a nervous hand across her mouth, trying to rub away the errant lipstick. Logan inhaled and kept hold of her. “Are you frightened of Watson?” he asked, his gaze perceptive.
She nodded.
“Yes. Aren’t you?” She stared up at him, seeing the futility of the comment against his latent authority. She’d anticipated the shake of his dark head before it came. “He always calls me girl. I don’t think after fifteen years he even knows my name. And he treats me like I’m time wasting, whatever he finds me doing. I can’t win. He’ll walk in any second and fire me for shirking. It might be a relief.”
“Really?” Logan cocked his head and Hana shrugged.
“I sometimes think so. I own my house and I’m solvent. But working means I haven’t touched Vik’s life insurance yet.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about stuff like that. Bodie says I’ll attract a con artist who’ll marry me and push me down the stairs.”
Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Right. Because that’s the kind of person you find in a school stockroom.”
Hana shrugged. “You never know.”
“I’m a lot of things, but not that.” Logan turned to lean against the wall, keeping his left arm around her shoulder. He bent his knee and balanced the sole of his cowboy boot against a shelf. “Look, I’ll take the blame,” he offered. “I’m new; they’ll figure I didn’t know the catch was broken.”
“Ok then,” Hana replied without shame and Logan hid his smile.
She rested her palm against the front of his thigh and he closed his eyes, struggling not to react in the way he wanted. “Logan,” Hana whispered and he opened his eyes and looked at her. “About before. Anka told me something in confidence. I try so hard not to gossip in this place.” She swallowed, looking for the right words. Logan raised his hand, so she didn’t have to finish.
“I don’t like surprises and it knocked me sideways for a bit, that’s all. You’re right, a confidence is a confidence. It’s fine.” He pressed his lips to Hana’s in forgiveness, shifting position so he could hold and kiss her, communicating his apology through his body.
Hana felt a flush of passion and remembered being eighteen again. She felt it once a long time ago, a naïve little girl in her first year at Aberystwyth University. That one reckless moment with the handsome Sikh boy heralded a world of trouble. Memories flooded her mind and she overrode the urge to flee, promising she wouldn’t repeat her mistakes. Logan’s breathing changed and she recognised the danger.
“Enough,” she sighed, pulling away from him and biting her lip. “It’s not a good look if someone comes in.”
Logan raised his eyebrows and leaned back with a smug look on his face. “You wanna get out of here and go some place else?” He linked his fingers through hers and leaned back against the wall.
“What’s with you?” Hana laughed and nudged him. He seized her fingers and kissed them.
“When was the last time anyone told you how beautiful you are?”
Hana’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “I don’t know.”
Logan looked at her in horror. “Didn’t your husband say it to you?”
She shifted in discomfort and floundered. “It’s complicated. He’s been dead a long time.” She squirmed and pain crossed her face as she wriggled away from Logan, hiding beneath an expressionless mask.
“Hey.” His voice sounded soft as he leaned into her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Hana’s voice sounded listless and faraway. Logan sensed the emotional distance grow between them. He dragged her back into his side.
“Actually, I’ve never said it to anyone.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. “I’ve only ever wanted to say it to you.” He kissed the top of her head and held her tight.
Hana sighed against his shoulder. “You’re funny,” she whispered and Logan hid his look of sadness at her disbelief.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, pushing off from the wall and dragging her with him.
“How?” Hana put her hands on her hips, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her fringe.
“Trust me,” Logan replied and winked at her.
Before he reached the door, it opened outwards with a creak. The newcomer stopped in her tracks and gaped in surprise. “Angus was worried about you. He asked me if you’d gone to the hospital.” Sunita directed her question at Logan and Hana saw his shoulders stiffen.
“Hardly. I got locked in here.”
Hana knew her face grew pinker by the second and hid behind Logan as Sunita pushed her way further into the cupboard. When they were at eye level, Sunita smirked. “Please could you pass me a bundle of those wooden rulers, Hana? The shop’s run out and the last person they sent to fetch some never arrived back.”
Hana watched Logan’s eyes narrow behind the Indian woman’s back and dropped her gaze to the shelf behind her. Logan watched as she bent down and Hana felt him appraising her legs through the smart slacks. A smile touched her lips and she accentuated the movement, making more of it than she needed to. The period bell sounded muffled as it tolled in the corridor, reminding Hana an hour had passed. “Grab the door!” She flapped her hand at Logan and he took a step forward, lurching backwards with a grunt as another body entered the cramped space.
“Party? Cool as!” squealed Peter North. He saw Hana bring a bundle of wooden rulers from the shelf and heft them in her hand, his face creasing in panic. He tried to cover his bases by pressing his hand over his crotch. “Hey, Logan, don’t let her hit me. Hana asked me to give you your keys. Yesterday.” His eyes darted from Hana and then back to Logan.
“So?” Logan narrowed his eyes and held his hand out. Pete put his fingers in his pants pocket and looked confused. Enlightenment dawned across his pale blue eyes.
“She’s got them.” He jabbed a finger at Hana. “I went to the shop for staples but Lief says I have to fetch rulers first. I’m stapling my zipper, look.” He pointed at his crotch where an opening gaped. Dingy underpants poked through the gap.
“I’m getting rulers!” Sunita snatched them from Hana and cradled them to her chest like a child. “They asked me first.”
“No!” North shoved his way past Logan, bobbing down to grab another bundle. “I’m getting them. Then I can staple my pants. I can’t walk around like this!”
“You usually do.” Irritation made Sunita’s accent more pronounced and she straightened her back and gave Pete the spoiled-princess-look. Logan watched, his expression unreadable and Hana shrieked as the door behind him swung closed. The slap of a school bag ensured it clicked shut before any of them could move. The sound of students walking about on the staircase made Pete’s ensuing shouts and hammering pointless. He screamed, a high-pitched operatic sound which made the women cover their ears. Logan slapped him across the back of the head and he stopped.
The cupboard felt small for two, but four adult bodies made it overheated and claustrophobic. North squished himself into the corner between the last shelf and the wall. “I’m taking the rulers,” he maintained. Sunita humphed and folded her arms.
Logan leaned against the door, one leg bent and the sole of his cowboy boot resting against the wood. He snagged up his keys and shoved them in his pocket. “I can open it,” he offered and both women recoiled in horror.
“Donald Watson will kill us if you break it down,” Sunita breathed and Hana agreed. They huddled in the middle of the cupboard, listening for the sounds of anyone passing by. “We’ll hammer on the door and shout the code,” Sunita suggested. “Then swear them to secrecy.”
Logan sighed and folded his arms, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the room full of stupidity. Sunita cornered Hana, whispering in an undertone. “How long have you been seeing him?” she hissed. “I told you he liked you.”
Hana shook her head, watching Logan through one eye. “We’re not allowed to date other staff members,” she whispered. Sunita snorted.
“Tell that to some of the others. Martin Jennings for one.”
Hana rolled her eyes. “They’re marri
ed!” she replied, her tone incredulous. She opened her mouth to say something else when the single, pathetic bulb winked out. “Fantastic!” she complained. The room pitched into darkness and all Hana felt for the next ten minutes was Sunita’s elbow jabbing her in the ribs as she whispered gossip in hushed tones. Hana blanked it out with a nursery rhyme in her head, running through four or five before Sunita grew silent and jabbed her again.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Hana felt Sunita’s breath on her cheek and realised how close she must be. She shifted, her heels scraping on the wooden floor and the air became fraught with tension. Instinct told Hana it wasn’t just hers.
“About Anka and that student. I don’t know how Angus kept a lid on it. Angus’ personal assistant said they’ve hushed it up.”
Hana sighed and kept her body still. Misery flooded through her bones. Sunita leaned closer. “I won’t tell anyone else. I figured you knew anyway.” She jabbed Hana in the ribs again, making her groan in pain. Then she continued in a hushed voice, “Must have been hard for him too.” She sighed. “Really embarrassing. The receptionist said he had no idea.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about now.” Hana let impatience flood her tone, hoping Sunita would shut up about it. No such luck. Sunita jabbed her again with a pointy elbow, getting her in the stomach as she breathed into Hana’s face. “I thought they looked alike, but they have different surnames. I saw Logan last year when Tama got caught smoking at the boarding house. They’ve got the same eyes. I suppose they would look similar with the boy being his nephew. Angus’ assistant said Logan’s paid his fees for the last five years and now the little git has done this.”
Hana choked on her own saliva, grateful for the darkness which hid her stunned reaction. The bombshell sent her body into a paroxysm of trembling, the drama slotting into place like the parts of a well-oiled machine. She swallowed, her silence speaking volumes. Anka’s obvious animosity found an explanation, rooted in a way to protect her illicit affair. Hana sighed and Sunita jabbed her again. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Hana shook her head, sickness working its way through her system. “No,” she whispered. “No, I didn’t.”
“Oops!” A foul smell percolated from Pete’s corner and Hana gagged.
“Pete!” she squeaked. “That’s disgusting!” She lifted her blouse in the darkness and used it to cover her nose, panting into the fabric.
“Now can I open the bloody door?” Logan’s feet ground against the dusty floor and Hana couldn’t answer for fear of breathing in the stench.
“Are you telling me you could open it the whole time?” Sunita demanded. Hana concentrated through the haze of whatever crawled up Pete’s bum and died there, her eyes watering.
“Yep,” Logan replied. “I offered twice.”
“Do it!” Sunita squealed. “Just do it!”
A click followed a shuffle and the women lurched towards the light, desperate for escape as the fog of death drifted towards them.
The child on the stairs regretted skipping class as the three shrieking banshees leapt from the cupboard, accompanied by the nauseating stench of death. As he shrank back against the bannister, he saw the cadaver lying slumped on the floor inside, its eyes rolled back in its rotting head. He ran to fetch the school nurse and quaked as she pressed the number of the beast into the keypad.
“Oh, thanks.” Peter North walked through the open door, clutching four bundles of wooden rulers. “The shop sent me to fetch these. You don’t need to get any.” He jerked his head towards the shelf. “I’ve got all eighty.”
The nurse took the child back to sick bay and rang his mother to fetch him. She wrote in the log that he’d suffered a medical episode including worrying delusions and hustled him off to the doctors with his concerned parent.
Logan ran the gauntlet with Alan Dobbs. “I covered your second class, Du Rose!” he raged. “The Year 12s talked for the whole bloody hour, but the Year 9s didn’t report you missing. Instead, they made the damn classroom into an assault course and in the process, broke the legs off a desk and ripped those curtains from the long windows facing the courtyard. They turned it into a pirate ship!”
Logan stood his ground as Dobbs ranted, waiting for him to draw breath. “We’ve read Treasure Island,” he replied. “I’m glad it got them thinking.” He made the mistake of smirking and Dobbs flipped his lid.
“This is a private school, Du Rose, not a bloody kindergarten. The parents who pay our bloody exorbitant fees have certain bloody expectations.”
Logan entertained himself counting the expletives in his superior’s sentences. Every time Dobbs swore, the blonde wig on his head moved further left. Logan wondered how many more would turn it into a beard.
“You got locked into the stock cupboard near the art rooms?” Dobbs peered at Logan with a quizzical expression. “You’re sure it was that one?”
“Yeah.” Logan nodded and cocked his head. “The weird one with the door that opens outward.”
Dobbs prodded at his computer screen and dragged his glasses further down his nose. “A student took the nurse back there earlier. Said there were murderers and a body. She sent him home.” Dobbs sat back and flung his glasses on the desk. A hairy hand rubbed across his face. “Probably another kid trying to get out of class; whole place is going down the toilet.” He sighed. “Mrs Dobbs wondered if you wanted dinner one night this week. The neighbouring reserve has a rabbit problem. You up for it?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. Just give me the details later and we’ll go out there.”
“Awesome.” Dobbs looked pleased. “It’s great to have a crack shot on the team.”
Logan held his gaze with grey eyes the colour of grit. Realising he’d let his formidable guard down at work, Dobbs dismissed the English teacher with a warning. “I’m watching you! Let’s have no more disappearing acts during school hours.” His brow furrowed. “Apart from the necessary one’s obviously. Angus explained. How’s that all going?”
“Fine thanks,” Logan replied with a smile. “Want me to bring my poppa’s gun again?”
Dobbs sat back in his chair and observed him, a covetous look in his eyes. “Yes,” he said in a calm tone. His fingers twitched at the memory of the eighty-year-old shotgun, clean lines and smooth firing action. “That would be wonderful.”
Sheila taught for two periods and didn’t notice Hana’s absence, although Hana stayed back after hours to make up for it and got more work done without the constant interruptions. Nobody ever missed Pete, who spent the next hour in the toilet. Sunita got to the shop first with the rulers.
Hana felt like the stink of Pete’s fart stuck in her nose for the rest of the day. Lying awake that night she decided next time she went in the cupboard, she’d borrow Anka’s trick and leave her shoe in the entrance.